


Loki and Branwen Rock - Loki's POV One Shot

by LLForrester



Category: Loki - Fandom
Genre: Asgard, Branwen Celtic Goddess of Love Beauty and Dreams, F/M, Fluff, Loki POV, Midgard, RCPM, Rock and Roll, Smut, Tír na nÓg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26744467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LLForrester/pseuds/LLForrester
Summary: Loki did something "colossally stupid" (his words), and finds out exactly who Branwen was with when she left him. He doesn't much like it.
Relationships: Loki and Branwen
Comments: 14
Kudos: 9





	Loki and Branwen Rock - Loki's POV One Shot

**Author's Note:**

> Loki and Branwen's story begins in "Loki and his Goddess," posted in this archive.
> 
> More stories with these characters will follow, each intended to stand alone. But best read with at least the background of the first story.
> 
> I have taken these characters from both the Marvel Universe and Norse mythology. I AM NOT FOLLOWING MARVEL OR NORSE CANON. I am making things up so they may not fit into your ideas of how things are in the Marvel Universe, prose Edda or poetry Edda.
> 
> This work contains graphic, sometimes rough, consensual sex.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to get dressed and ready to go somewhere when there’s a horny (always horny) Norse God in the room who would prefer if you were always naked? 

“Loki!” I smacked his hand away from my breasts for possibly the fourteenth time in two minutes. “We need to get dressed or we’re never getting out of here.” 

“But I want you so badly, my love.” Here he grabbed my hand and placed it on the front of his leather trousers – the only thing he was wearing – so I could feel that huge, hard cock under my fingers. “HE wants you, darling.” 

“Loki!” 

_Alright, here’s where I take over this narrative._

_Give me that laptop! Give it!_

My sweet Branwen resists, but I’m bigger, and stronger than she, oh, and also meaner. She doesn’t think that, because I treat her differently than I do anyone else in the universe. Except for, maybe, my mother. 

I, I am Loki of Asgard, and forget that “burdened with glorious purpose” crap you’ve heard. What does that even mean? I never said that. 

You may have heard of me. Most everybody knows Loki. Unfortunately, for some reason, they aren’t all that fond of me. I can’t help that. I’m the God of Lies, of Chaos, Mischief, Trickery. It’s my nature to be unpleasant. My job is to stir things up in your life, so you have to see them from a different perspective. 

Branwen said I’m perpetually horny, and that is not a pun about my battle helmet. It might be true, but how would you feel, an alpha male, with a stunningly beautiful, plump, buxom, red-haired goddess within your grasp? A sultry, sexy, sensual woman, who happens to love you?

Branwen and I are from different pantheons, different planes. She is a Celtic goddess from Tir na nOg, and I am, as I said, from Asgard. She is my opposite in many ways, as the Goddess of Love, Beauty, and Dreams. 

And she is all of those things to me. She loves me, and she treats me like the king I should be. I would lay the world at her feet, if it were mine to give. 

She’s not as tall as I – fitting, for a woman – but she is tall enough. She wears her fire-red hair long, down to her waist. Her eyes are green, like mine, and maybe even prettier. And her body. Gods. She is not rail thin like the so-called “beauties” of this Midgard, no. She has plenty of luscious curves that fit perfectly against my body, and into my hands, and my mouth. A slender waist, full hips, and breasts that make my mouth water from across a room. Is it any wonder I’m perpetually hard? 

And that face. Sweet, with generous lips, long eyelashes, and a nose that just turns up at the tip. She’s always smiling, always laughing, always looking at me, and only me, with love in her eyes. 

(Well. Except for that one time I did something colossally stupid, and hurt her. Except for then.) 

And her breasts – did I mention her breasts? Full, round, firm breasts with pink nipples that taste, to me, like honey, and get oh-so-hard when I suck them. The gods know I love breasts. Especially hers. 

My favorite place to be is in bed with her. Whether we are making love or fucking, she is my equal in every way. If it were possible, that’s where I would live, with her, in our bed. 

And, as they say, the cherry on top – her quim. Hot, sweet, juicy – her pussy in my mouth is my all-time favorite thing. Along with her breasts in my mouth. Or my tongue in her mouth. Or my cock in her cunt. 

You get the picture? You see why, maybe, I’m always hard? 

Gods, I love this woman. And I would do anything, anything for her. 

Well, almost anything. Right now Bran wants me to get dressed, and let her get dressed, but I just want to fuck her again. True, we only got out of bed about five minutes ago, but every time I look at her I want her again. 

I reach for her bare breasts, and she slaps me away for what seems like the fifteenth time. “Loki Odinson! Will you stop!” She tries to sound stern, but she’s giggling. She’s managed to get her knickers on but that’s about all. 

I put my hands down and look pitiful. “Don’t you want me?” 

“Oh, Loki. I always want you! But - “ 

I’ve heard all I need to hear to know that this is consensual then. I grab her and throw her back on the bed, and straddle her so she can’t get up. I bend to kiss her neck, her cheek, her lips, and her breasts. I take one nipple into my mouth and pinch it with my lips as she squirms under me. I press my cock against her mound, rubbing it until she stops struggling. Her arms wind around me and pull me down to kiss me hard. 

Then we are both wrestling to get out of our drawers and her back arches to press that precious quim against my cock. I know we’re in for a quickie, so I use my fingers on her clit, and slip a couple of fingers inside her. The sound she makes, the sight of her head thrown back with her eyes closed, her long, lovely neck make me a little wild. I pull my fingers out and push my cock in. We move as one, our rhythm as perfect as Keith Richards’s guitar. I’ve pinned Bran’s arms over her head and she’s wrapped her legs around my waist. I make sure my pubic bone is pressed, hard, against her clit, stroking it with every thrust. 

She begins to pant, and nips at my collarbone. I get so excited when she bites me. My stroke speeds up and I’m getting close to climaxing. “Branwen, my love, my queen,” I whisper into her ear. “I feel your pussy, so hot, squeezing me, stroking me, Bran, I’m going to come, Bran, please come with me.” 

She bucks hard, pressing her face against my chest. “Loki!” She cries. “I’m coming, love, I’m coming, now!” 

And so we climax together, something that, on top of everything else, seems like magic. 

We lie, breathing hard. I kiss under her ear, and kiss away the sweat gathered on her throat. She wraps her fingers in my hair and pulls gently, so she can kiss my mouth. My eyes close and I feel myself getting hard again, inside her. 

Just then she reaches around and slaps my bare ass. Hard. My eyes fly open. “Get up,” she demands. "Now. And get dressed!” 

We do get dressed, but not until she’s thrown my clothes into the hallway and locked the bedroom door. I could easily magic the door open, but I know this is important to her, and I don’t want to really piss her off. 

Never piss off an Irishwoman who knows where you sleep. 

When at last we are in the car and on our way, I glance over at Branwen, who is a little more hyped up than I’d seen her before. Normally, she is a pacific woman (Goddess of Love, remember), and it is a little unnerving to see the excitement just beneath the surface. 

I take a deep breath. “What’s the name of this place again?” 

“It’s the Crescent Ballroom. Pretty small place, but a great venue.” 

“Are you sure we’ll be able to get in, if it’s so small?” I try to keep the note of hope out of my voice. 

She glances at me from the corner of her eye. “We have tickets and a table waiting. We’ll get in. Relax, Loki, I think you’ll like it.” She reaches her hand over to take mine. 

Bless her. She thinks I’m concerned about liking the music. Hel, I’m the God of Chaos. I LOVE rock and roll. 

Struggling for nonchalance, I ask, “This is your friend’s band, right?” 

She squeezes my hand, hard. “Yes, Loki. You’ve met Roger.” 

Yeah, I’d met him. Tall, tanned, handsome, long-haired mortal of the type known as “rock star.” I met him when he stopped by our apartment one night and stayed only briefly after talking to Bran. I had the feeling he didn’t expect to see me. 

I feel my teeth grinding together. I’d seen the way he looked at Branwen. Granted, most men, and some women, look at her like that. Mortals are so easily sucked into our orbit – gods, after all – but additionally she is beautiful and a pleasure to look at. 

But this mortal was different. He was actually a friend of hers, and they had “spent time” together when I wasn’t there. She seemed to like him, a lot. I wasn’t jealous. 

But I didn’t want her to look at him the way she looks at me. And I didn’t want him to look at her at all. To make matters worse, I was in no position to say anything regarding how they looked at each other. It was because of me they got together in the first place. 

That colossally stupid thing I did, that hurt my Branwen? She left me while I was sleeping – okay, passed out drunk – and disappeared from my life for several years. I went home to my mother in Asgard, laid my head in her lap and cried like a small boy, and then lost my mind in regret and grief. 

I know Bran was hurt too, so I’m not judging her. She didn’t have anyone to run to, like I did. Her fellow goddesses in Tir na nOg are not as warm and loving as Frigga, my mother, so when this tall rocker offered her solace, she took it. 

I can’t blame her. So I blame him. 

To be fair, she told me all about it after I finally found her (thanks to Frigga’s magic) and came crawling back. I’d nearly wept with relief when she told me how much she’d missed me, and let me move in with her again. 

I trust her. And I know it’s wrong to be jealous of her friends. I have no friends, so it’s a tough situation for me to get accustomed to. 

We park in a large dirt lot behind the Crescent Ballroom, and walk to the building holding hands. Tonight is a full moon that lights up the run-down neighborhood this little bar sits in. Bran looks up at me and smiles, and my heart pounds. And yes, I admit it; I get hard. Just from her smile. 

I hope she knows how much I adore her. 

The front of this place is a little porch where people are eating and drinking, wait staff slipping in and out amongst the parties. She gives our names to a guy at a table at the door and we go in. There are more tables and a bar in a small lounge just inside the door. We go through one more door on the opposite side of the room, and we’re in the “ballroom.” A wide expanse with a stage on the right-hand wall, bleacher seating opposite, and plenty of dance floor in between. There are about a dozen tall tables with stools scattered around, and we look for one that has our names on it. 

Branwen’s eyes are sparkling, and I hear a peal of laughter when she finds a placard on a table right next to the stage that reads ‘ROCKIN’ RAMONA’. 

“This is us,” she grins. “Sit, Elgar.” 

This guy Roger knows our real names, but we use these stupid aliases for other mortals. I can call them stupid because I stupidly picked them, and they stuck. 

I’m tall enough that I can just sit on the stool, while Rockin’ Ramona has to climb up. I plant my hand on that beautiful, firm, sweet little bottom of hers to give her a push, and she turns and gives me a look that tells me I will pay for that transgression, later. 

I grin and wink at her. “Something to drink, Ramona?” 

She finally settles on the stool, and pushes her hair out of her face. “Yes.” She points behind us, into a darkish area of this cavernous room. “There’s the bar.” 

I can’t help myself. I caress her face and lean in for a kiss on my way past her to the bar. She chuckles softly as I go, pulling a handful of her long hair lightly through my fingers. 

It takes two or three hours, or maybe twenty minutes, to get two beers, and as I’m waiting in line I hear some commotion from the stage. A couple of guys are up there fooling around with instruments and equipment. I’m a little confused because our table is right there, but I can’t see Branwen. 

After a moment and some movement I realize I can’t see Bran because she’s wrapped in some guy’s arms. The beers come up and I grab them, and stalk to our table, thinking about knives. 

It’s Roger, and he’s released her by the time I get there. Branwen is laughing and Roger grins hugely at me as I set the beers down. 

“Hola, amigo!” He says, cheerfully. “I’m so glad you guys came!" He offers me a hand, and I shake it, focusing on not squeezing his bones to dust. He’s a musician. He needs those hands. 

Branwen might never forgive me. 

“Thank you for the tickets, Rog,” Bran says, smiling. “This is a great table.” 

Rog! Gods help me. 

“No problem. Anyway, just wanted to make sure you two got settled in okay.” 

We two? Right. Sure. 

Branwen is all lit up and I’m trying not to sink into that unworthy emotion of jealousy. But knowing that this man has, at the very least, kissed my beloved, is maddening. 

Roger is taller than average, though not as tall as I. He wears his hair very long, like I do, but his is brown, not black. He is lean, like I, and I realize his face may be similar to mine. Not as good looking, of course, but passable. He smiles a lot, laughs a lot, and is friendly, charming, and funny. Very difficult for me to like. 

I begin to see why she may have been drawn to him. 

“By the way,” Roger says. “Charlie’s having a little after party here. Food and booze and music – I hope you guys will stick around and join us. Invite only.” Here he winks at me. “Let me know so Jim or I can make sure you get in.” 

Smart man, looking at me during this invitation. 

But then he undoes the goodwill he’s building with me by leaning over and kissing Bran on the cheek. “Gotta go! Hasta la vista!” 

I take a drink, a big one, and lean my chin on my hand, watching Branwen watch Roger leave. 

She turns her head to me and the smile drops off her face. I begin to feel a little sick. “Loki?” Her voice is very soft but I hear her over the uproar of the bar. 

“You still care for him.” I don’t know if I’m asking her, or telling her. 

“Oh, Loki.” Her face falls. “Loki, I’ve been looking forward to this show for weeks. And every time I thought about it, I imagined you, and me, sitting here having fun. I never thought of coming alone, or with anyone else besides you.” 

“I’m sorry.” That colossally stupid thing – it appears I’m still doing it. My own insecurity making me hurt her. The person I love most in the universe, and I seem compelled to wound her. 

“Loki.” She takes my hand in hers. “After I left, I didn’t want to live anymore. I went to Tir na nOg, then came back to Midgard. I didn’t know what to do with myself. Loki, I though I was going to die from the loneliness. I wanted to die. I missed you so much. 

“I missed your laugh. I missed you making me laugh. I missed fighting you for the bathroom in the morning.” She tips her head back and I see she’s struggling to hold back tears. 

Like I haven’t made myself feel like a big enough fool – now I’m spoiling Branwen’s night. 

She goes on. “I missed making love with you.” I look up at her. She’s looking at me, so sweetly, so lovingly that my breath catches. “I missed how much you love me.” She wipes her eyes quickly, unobtrusively. “Whyever you did what you did, I never, ever thought it was because you didn’t love me. Or because you loved someone else more.” 

I can’t speak. I just nod. 

She sits back, still holding my hand. “You know why I was attracted to Roger in the first place?” She laughs a little, wiping her eyes again. “I thought it was you. I saw this tall man with long, dark hair, and my heart just started pounding. I ran up to him.” 

She looks down at the table. “I was so disappointed, I cried. I wanted so badly for him to be you. And every time after that, whenever I saw him, as soon as he left I would just cry. Because he wasn’t you.” 

I reach over to stroke her cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have to keep paying for my mistakes.” 

She sniffs. “He’s been a good friend to me, Loki, but he knows I belong to you. Heart and soul.” She looks into my eyes. “I do, Loki. I’m yours, love, only yours.” 

I drop my head. “Can you forgive me, again, Bran? For making an ass of myself, for spoiling your night?” 

She pulls my fingers to her lips. “No need, sweetheart,” she whispers, but I hear her. “Just love me, and never doubt that I love you.” 

I nod. And talk about perfect timing, Roger and his band bound onto the stage and the music starts. 

As much as it pains me to admit this, in the interest of truthful reporting, I have to say the show is excellent. The music is loud – one of my favorite things – and good rock and roll. Roger and his little band have quite a following; dancing people, singing along, fill this room to capacity. 

I watch all these mortals (when I’m not watching my love), having such a good time, drinking, dancing, singing. I wish I understood it all better, but then again, I’m getting lessons right now, it appears. Branwen is bouncing in her seat, and smiling again, thank the gods. 

Some thought occurs to me then, and I have no idea where it comes from, but I am quite glad I act on it. “Branwen.” I put my hand on her arm. “Would you like to dance?” 

Her eyes light up and a little sound comes out of her – sort of a squeak – and she grabs my hand. “Really? Yes!” 

I’m nothing if not a fabulous mimic, so the dancing is easy. And it’s more fun than I anticipate, except that these dancers are not touching one another. I want to hold Bran but it’s not that kind of music. But she’s clearly having a great time, and when I glance up at the stage, I catch Roger’s eye. He grins and winks at me, which makes me smile. 

We dance for four or five songs, then need a break and a drink. We wind through the crowd to get back to our table. I grab Branwen’s hand; even though the table is only three or four meters away I don’t want to be separated from her. I give her a boost onto her stool (keeping my hands appropriately placed, on her waist), and we sit, catching our breath. My Bran looks so happy, and beautiful. Gods, I adore this woman. 

“Do you want another beer, sweetheart?” 

“Yes!” She jumps off the stool I just lifted her onto. “But I’ll get it. The bathroom’s back there. You want one too? Give me some money, honey.” 

I give her some cash and she disappears toward the back of the room. For a long time I sit, tapping my feet to the music, and eventually wondering where the Hel Branwen is. Standing, I can easily see the bar in the back of the room, but there are no goddesses in line that I can see, and it’s been, easily, a half hour. I’m wondering if I should go find her when I feel a tug on my arm. 

I turn to see a young woman standing there, staring at me. Her pupils are huge and her mouth is slightly open. She says nothing, this woman who is staring at me with her hand on my arm. I so rarely deal with mortals on my own, and I glance to the back of the room again, hoping Bran will appear. Finally, I’m compelled to say something. “What?” 

The girl laughs and the smell of alcohol washes over me. She squeezes my arm, and I move it away from her grip. “You’re goddamn gorgeous, you know that?” She says, her words a little slurred. “Do you want to dance?” 

No, I think, I want you to go the Hel away, but then I think, too, of how Bran would react. I grit my teeth. “No,” I say. After a moment, I remember. “Thank you.” 

“Oh, where’s your pretty girlfriend?” This relentless mortal continues. “She dump your fine ass?” 

I’m at a loss now. It’s like this person is challenging me to be Loki. I manage to surprise myself with my restraint, and courtesy. “My wife,” and I have no idea why I use this term, “is in the ladies’ room. So no, she didn’t dump me, but thank you for your concern.” 

“Oh, I see. She left cause you’re an asshole!” Then this drunken mortal woman keels over backward and would have fallen to the floor if it weren’t packed with dancers. 

She’s picked up by two people who shoot mean looks at me, like I care, and I decide I’ve had enough. I’m going to go find Branwen. 

As I’m getting up I feel a hand on my shoulder and I whip around. I’m done and if these mortals want to engage me I’m going to make it memorable. My teeth are bared and my hand’s in a fist, tingling with magic, but standing there is a long-haired man who seems sober, and a little taken aback. 

Who are all these people and why are they touching me? 

“What?” I snap. 

The man steps back. “Uh, I’m sorry – Elgar?” 

“Yes? What?” Now I’m worried something has happened to Branwen. 

“Uh, Roger wanted me to tell you that if you want to join us at the after party, you should probably head back there now.” 

“Ah, okay. Sorry.” I stand and the guy looks relieved. “But, can you help me?” I hear myself pleading and want to bite my tongue off. But I’m worried about Bran. “I’ve, uh, my girl, umm, Bran – Ramona I mean, went to get beer about forty-five minutes ago, and...” I trail off, suddenly feeling very afraid. 

_“Your pretty girlfriend...dump your fine ass?”_

_What if – what if she left me again? What if she’s tired of my jealousy, and this guy she likes is right here, and he kissed her, and..._

Before I can fully panic the guy helpfully points to the back. “She’s back there. I saw her about five minutes ago, helping some gal having a meltdown. Anyway, grab her and come on back.” 

I’m so relieved I nearly sit again, but I manage to stay on my feet and head in the direction he pointed. Far behind the bar, in a dim hallway containing the bathrooms, I see Branwen standing with two blonde women, one of whom has clearly been crying. I can’t find it in me to care, as I just want to put my arms around Bran and thank the gods she’s still here. 

But I recognize her posture, and the look on her face. I can’t go to her now. I stop myself from touching her or speaking to her. I stand back a couple of meters, waiting. 

Branwen is in full Goddess Aspect. 

She’s a goddess, so, she’s always a goddess, but sometimes she’s a GODDESS. Right now she is using her goddess magic on one of these women, presumably the weeping one. 

I can’t interrupt her. She’s doing the work she was created to do, and I can only watch. I think she’s nearly finished, though; the girl is nodding her head and wiping her eyes. Bran is speaking softly to her, with a hand on her arm, probably putting a spell or a blessing on her. 

Branwen smiles, then puts a finger under the girl’s chin to lift her head. The girl laughs a little, then nods. Her friend takes her hand, and they head in the same direction we’re supposed to go. Bran watches them, then drops her chin to her chest and her hands to her sides. I can see she’s closed her eyes and is taking deep breaths (and not just because I’m looking at her breasts, although of course I am), and I give her a minute. 

I step up behind her, and despite the fact that there are hundreds of people around us, I feel all alone with her. Her aura has expanded to encompass virtually the whole hallway, an aftermath of her magic. She feels me, and turns to smile at me. In this moment she is more beautiful than anything I have ever seen. She stands before me in her true Aspect, radiating love, and beauty. 

(They don’t know it, but every person in this building is going to have the most wonderful dreams tonight, thanks to the Goddess of Love, and Beauty, and Dreams.) 

“Loki,” she says, holding her arms open to me, and I step into them. “Loki. Has it been a long time?” 

“No, no.” I hug her. “A few minutes only. Are you well, my love?” 

“Yes.” She leans fully into me, and all I can think is how lucky I am to be the one holding this woman. “But I’m not finished.” 

“Oh?” I lean back to look into her face. “We’re supposed to go meet your friend, back there, somewhere, for a party.” 

“Yes, exactly.” She takes my hand and looks up at me. Her pupils are hugely dilated and I can see she’s not completely engaged with this plane yet. 

“Shall we go then?” I ask softly. 

And then, in that moment, she’s back, and fully with me. “Loki? I’m sorry. What did you say?” 

“Your friend invited us to come back. Shall we go?” 

“Yes, let’s.” She turns and we start back. “Loki?” 

“Yes, Bran?” 

“Stop calling him ‘my’ friend. He’s our friend, sweetheart.” 

I think about that as we walk down that dim hall to the private patio in the back of the bar. 

I have a friend. 

A guy who was on stage with Roger, who Bran introduces as Nick, welcomes us to a storeroom-converted-to-patio. There are potted plants, twinkly lights, a small bar, lots of chairs, and a firepit, which is cold now because the weather is still warm. A buffet with Mexican food has been set up, and Roger and his bandmates are holding drinks, and circulating and laughing. There are maybe twenty people altogether, including, I notice, the two women Bran was ministering to. 

I guide Branwen, who is still a little spacey, to a small cushioned bench and sit her down. “Sit tight, Babe,” I tell her. “I’ll bring you some water.” 

No food, no alcohol. When we’ve stepped this far into our God Aspect, sometimes the body sort of shuts down, functioning only as a vessel, with all our life force going toward our power – our god or goddess magic. 

If she tries to eat now it won’t go well, and her body will let her know when it’s ready for food. And alcohol would only confuse her and make a mess of things. So I help myself to two bottles of water jammed into an ice bucket, and stand over her until she’s drunk one completely down. I uncap and hand her the second bottle. “I’m going to get a bite, sweetheart. Don’t let anyone steal my seat.” She nods absently, and I notice her eyes are moving from the blonde women, to Roger, and back again. She’d said she wasn’t ‘finished,’ so I know there’s more magic afoot. 

My new friend Roger corners me at the buffet, where I’m trying to convince myself it’s okay to eat with my fingers, because everyone else is doing it, and trying not to think of what Frigga would say. 

“You like the show?” My friend asks me. His eyes are bright and he’s holding what I’m sure is not his first drink. I can smell the tequila. He’s a little high, but not drunk. Yet. 

“I enjoyed it very much, thank you,” I tell him. “Thank you for the tickets and the great seats.” 

He glances at Branwen, who is staring blankly at us. He smiles at her, but when she doesn’t respond, the smile drops off his face and he looks at me. “Is she okay?” 

“She’s fine,” I assure him. She’s casting some sort of magic on you, but don’t worry about it, I think. 

He lowers his voice. “Can I tell you something?” 

Is this what friends do? “Sure,” I shrug. 

“You know I’m no threat, don’t you?” 

If I weren’t so poised, and cool, and smooth, and self confident, I might have dropped my plate. All I can manage is to tilt my head. “What?” 

He gestures toward Bran. “I know you know that Branwen and I, uh, dated, while you two were, you know, not together?” 

He’s having a hard time but I’m not going to help him. 

Roger looks at his feet. “I really like her, but you were always in the room.” 

Now he has my full attention. “What?” 

He looks up into my face. “I think she only went out with me because I, sorta, resemble you. You know, tall, the hair...” 

I nod. 

“Well.” He clears his throat. “She called me your name when we, ah, were, you know. Having a tender moment.” 

I feel a very strange sensation. Somewhere between my chest and my stomach, something’s there. Something like pain, but not really. More like...what? What am I feeling? 

So yeah. He slept with her. He made love to my Branwen. Whatever’s happening in my chest makes me feel like I did the day I woke up and found she’d moved out. My eyes even ache a little. 

I remind myself that she’s chosen me, though. I’m the one who lives with her now, who shares her bed every night. Plus, she called him by my name. 

“Sorry,” Roger says, perhaps noticing that I’m not smiling. “I just wanted you to know. She only ever thought about you.” 

“It’s okay,” I tell him, not knowing what else to say. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

This having friends thing is a little exhausting. “What?” 

“You guys aren’t from around here, are you?” He’s grinning now. 

“Ah, our accents gave it away, did they.” 

“If you say so!” He laughs. “But I’m willing to bet she’s not from Ireland any more than you’re from England.” 

I eye him. “Where do you think we’re from?” 

“Not around here.” 

“Yes, well, that narrows it down.” I glance over at Branwen, who’s sipping water and looking tired. “Look, Roger - “ 

He puts a hand on my arm. “Your secret, whatever it is, is safe with me, Loki. Thanks again for coming to the show.” 

I nod. “I’ll be taking Bran home soon. We didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” I grin at him, to be sure he knows exactly why we didn’t get a lot of sleep. 

He shakes his head at me, smiling, then strolls away. 

I sit next to Bran, who smiles sleepily at me and takes my hand. “Shall I take you home?” I ask. 

“In a minute. I need to see something.” 

I follow her eyes, as she watches one of the blonde girls, the one who’d been crying, standing next to Roger, and laughing. The look on his face is different than I’d seen on him before; between that and his aura, it is clear he is very interested in this girl. She keeps putting a hand on his arm, and though her colors are mortal enough, she’s clearly using girl magic. 

“There,” Bran says with satisfaction. “Now it’s going to go as it should.” 

“Are you going to tell him? You know he suspects we’re not quite what we seem.” 

"I know he does. But let’s wait until after the wedding to tell him.” 

“There’ll be a wedding?” 

“Almost certainly. Very few could take apart the spell I put together tonight.” She looks at me. “Except for someone like you.” 

I’m startled. “I? Why would I do such a thing?” 

“I didn’t say you, Loki. I said someone like you.” 

I grin. “There is no one like me, my love.” 

I offer to drive us home but Bran won’t let me – something about needing written permission from the state, plus knowing how to operate a car. Whatever. 

When we get home Branwen falls directly onto the bed, fully clothed. I pull off her cowboy boots and tight jeans, and help her squirm out of her band t-shirt. She is dozing, wearing only her bra and knickers, but I can’t see going to sleep before the girls are freed. I struggle with the bra fastenings (Gods! Those breasts are more well guarded than all the treasure in Asgard’s towers!) and finally get the contraption off her. 

She looks so gorgeous, lying on her back, wearing only tiny, lacy panties. Her long red hair falls over the pillows, her shoulders, and those luscious breasts, and her sweet lips are smiling. 

I undress as quietly as I can. Just looking at her I’m so hard it hurts, but now is not the time for our usual sexual Olympics. I can help her sleep more soundly, though. I gently slide her knickers down, over her mound, over her silky legs and little feet, and off. 

She murmurs, but doesn’t move as I settle myself between her legs and gently kiss her there. She stirs to wind her fingers in my hair – one of my favorite things – and I begin to lick her folds, and suck her clit. When I slide two fingers into her wet pussy she moans, and her lips and legs open. I feel her arch her back to meet my hand, and feeling that she’s wet enough, I move up and slide my aching cock inside her. 

Her eyes open, and they’re filled with such love, and lust, that I almost come right then. But no – this is for her. I move slowly, so slowly, feeling the exquisite sensation of her hot, wet cunt stroking my cock. I angle my hips to ensure my pubic bone rubs her clit. 

She wakes fully just before she comes, wrapping her legs around mine and bucking, pulling me in deeper. Her muscles contract around my cock and I am undone. She comes and her cry of release and the hot juices soaking us both down there tip me over as well. 

“I love you, my Loki,” she says, and then she’s asleep. 

“I love you too, Branwen.” My queen, my goddess, my love.

**Author's Note:**

> Loki and Branwen's story begins in "Loki and his Goddess," posted in this archive.
> 
> More stories with these characters will follow, each intended to stand alone. But best read with at least the background of the first story.
> 
> Comments most welcome!


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